Dreamless Love Story
by pengelyn
Summary: AU KuroxTomo, Modern day Japan. Not every love story is a sweet dream. Especially when violence, sex, high school and the Chinese mafia are involved... Ch5: Osaka!
1. Fireman

**Dreamless Love Story**

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**Chapter 1: Fireman**

_Dreamed I was a fireman - I just smoked and watched you burn  
Dreamed I was an astronaut - I shot you down like a juggernaut  
Dreamed we were still going out, had that one a few times now  
Woke up to find we were not… It's good to be awake…_

_ Jawbreaker_

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing. Is this really necessary?

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_Flames. Rising out of the flowing gasoline. He leans against the concrete divider, shattered glass crunching underneath his boots. Lights a cigarette, face lost amid the ghastly flickering shadow thrown by the flames. The inferno. By now it engulfs the vehicle, metal and glass blackening and melting before his stony gaze. Flames dance in the reflective fabric of his heavy flak jacket. The fireman.  
He leans back for another ragged drag on his cigarette. Surveying the dark highway through a raging heat. Inside the car, her face glows ghostly pale. Flames, like dragons are curling and licking at the long, raven-dark tendrils of her hair. Inhaling hot, black tar - the fireman watches. Her screams are ringing out a deafening silence as she burns. Nothing but red, scarlet, red flickering..._

Numbers. Red, flashing numbers, 3:47AM. Panting, he runs a hand through sweat-drenched black hair. It's cold. He is sitting bolt-upright on a hard tatami floor, alone. This small, cheap room is soaked with the blue neon glow of the street outside, casting a sordid wash over empty bottles and an unmade futon. Why? His head pounds, fighting a shiver through the cold sweat beading on his skin. Gone is the fire. Gone is the heat. Gone is the girl...

It has been three nights now since the last time he closed his swollen eyes, since the last time he let sleep overtake this powerful body. Then, the dream had been of an ocean. He had felt himself roaring like a tidal wave, furious and foam-crested, enormous. Crashing into her with the force of an inevitable fate, ravaging her coast, death and destruction in his wake. There had been no survivors. Why?

Before that, there was something about a vampire. He had been in her room, gazing down at that familiar, pale and fragile form with a strange and terrible thirst. But he wouldn't touch her... Why? And always, always her.

His breathing slower now, he clenches scarred fists in tired frustration. It doesn't make any sense. Always dreaming of this skinny girl, with her violet saucer-eyes and high-pitched squeak of a laugh. God damn that laugh. It wasn't as if he knew her well, even then... she was too young for him. Not cute at all, he grunts. And yet, his body absorbs every memory of her and transmutes her, revisits her, warps her until she inhabits the hot and angry blood in his veins, a haunting, nightmare child. His body stiffens. He has to move.

Hauling himself upright, he shakes his tired head as if to shake off these images. Ex-girlfriend bullshit. He grabs his jacket off the counter and throws on a pair of leather shoes, the door closing behind him with a sharp click.

Wake up. The night breeze cuts through his thin t-shirt, jacket unzipped. Smears and streaks of neon light gather behind his eyelids. Staggering down these creaking steps to a cold, bright and empty street. His stomach growls - that's right. Impulse, function, what makes us human. The suggestion of a smile begins to form on his thin lips, shoes firmly planted on concrete, carrying him around the corner and toward the garish glow of the 24-hour konbini at the end of the block. Shrink-wrapped, refrigerated bento lunches, row upon row - he can see them now in his mind's eye. Under the flickering, sickly glare of fluorecsent tube lighting, the furthest place from fires and oceans waits. The konbini never, ever sleeps. 7-11 has murdered sleep.

Hands in pockets, he hunches forward, marching faster toward a sleepless destiny...

"Hey!"

Three figures are leaning and leering up ahead. Baggy clothes, sprawling drunk over the sidewalk. He lowers his head and keeps walking.

"Hey, you!"

"Hey tough guy! Answer when someone's talking to you." These kids can't be more than 19 years old - their posturing is laughable. He grunts as he brushes through them. Onward to fluorescence.

"Tough guy, huh?" One of the kids clumsily reaches out to grab his jacketed shoulder. The tall man stops, abruptly.

"It's not 'tough guy'." Still staring at the pavement ahead of him, he growls softly. "It's Kurogane." His eyes flash as he thrusts away the hand, easily and forcefully. The boy staggers backwards into his friends.

Coughing and slurring his speech, one of the troublemakers starts to puff out his chest. "Well, well, look at this. He must think a helluva lot of hisself to talk like that to us." His eyes narrow. "All three of us."

"A guy like you all by himself on a night like this..." pipes in his friend.

"Nobody'll be climbing over themselves to help you out..." They are slowly moving closer, in a pack this time.

"Those shoes look expensive..."

Flick. The blade of a knife in the smaller kid's hand glints in the streetlight. "What else do you got on you?"

Kurogane grins.

The kid with the knife falters. "What's this asshole smiling about!" Regaining his confidence, he shakes with drunken rage - "Get him!"

Two of the boys lunge at once. Kurogane shoots out a long arm to grab the first by his neck, sidestepping a clumsy knife thrust and plunging his fist into the second kid's stomach. The boy doubles over and crumples to the concrete, while the other splutters for air with a massive hand gripping his throat. Kurogane squeezes. Fear stricken, the third kid turns to run, but the larger man is on him in a black-clad flash. Driving his huge knuckles into the boy's face, Kurogane savours the familiar sensation of teeth breaking, without emotion. Splinter.

Crack... and their groans and screams echo along the empty street, reminding him...

"Please, no..."

"Aarrrrrrrrnnng!"

"You… rrrg…"

_"Please stop it!" The bell-toned voice of a girl-child rings in his ears. Through the haze of memory, a tall teenaged boy with sharp features and jet-black hair turns._

_There, on the sunlit street, stands a tiny girl with long, dark locks falling around her face and tears shimmering in her eyes._

_"What's the matter?" the older boy growls, stepping away from the moaning, skinny bodies on the sidewalk. "Weren't these jerks trying to take something of yours?"_

_Her lip trembles._

_He stoops down to grab the girl's backpack from where it lies on the road. The two younger boys, bruised and bleeding, see their opportunity and start to sprint, awkwardly, limping and stumbling away down the hill. The little girl does not so much as glance after them - her intense, violet eyes are trained on the older boy, who is handing her the bag and wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his arm._

_"You hurt?" he speaks gruffly._

_She shakes her head, and says timidly, "Tomoyo is fine."_

_"But..." there is a stubborn set to her small chin. "...Kurogane-senpai shouldn't do that."_

_Startled, the boy glares down at her. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"_

_Unflinching in the cold heat of his scarlet eyes, the little girl says delicately - "You shouldn't hurt people so much weaker than you."_

Kurogane blinks, raising a hand to his cheek. A warm feeling is spreading outward from his cheekbone, around his eye and temple, as glass shatters onto the concrete. The wirey kid he holds at arm's length has swung and smashed a bottle against the side of his face. There are tears in his drunk eyes as he gasps and struggles weakly in Kurogane's neck hold. Annoyed, the larger man throws the boy to the ground, where he shudders and collapses into a heap.

The crumpled bodies heave and cough on the road as Kurogane stands away to the side. He rubs his cheek, and looks down at his scarred knuckles. _You shouldn't hurt people so much weaker than you…_ His stomach growls.

Tucking fists into his deep jacket pockets, without so much as a glance at the bodies on the road behind him, the older man continues in a slow saunter down the block. Toward the still-glowing goal of the 24-hour konbini. The place where all dreams die, he thinks, a smile spreading unmistakeably across his hard face. Some beef rolls and onigiri would really hit the spot right about now.

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A/N: OK, this is a bit of a weird one for me! I'm usually about sticking as close to canon as possible in all of my petty and pathetic fantasies, and I was finding it a bit hard to envision this couple as anything other than feudal warrior/princess. Their canon relationship is just so touching and engaging (which is, I guess, the main reason I'm on the KuroTomo team, since I don't have a damn thing against yaoi - but these two just feel so RIGHT with their traditional Japanese vibe, ne!) Then, upon listening to an old Jawbreaker song called "Fireman" this modern scenario hit me (the dreams are actually pulled from imagery in this song, which I guess makes this a songfic - ha! - if a rather bloated one...). Well, it'll be fun to see how this plays out.

Get ready for a pretty dark, angst-ridden, multi-chap piece of KxT AU! (But no serious worries, you can always expect happy endings from me! ;p ) Hope you enjoy!


	2. Old Habits

**Dreamless Love Story**

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**Chapter 2: Old Habits  
**

_Dreamed I was a tidal wave - I ravaged your coast there were no survivors  
Dreamed I was your landlord - I showed your place when you had lovers  
If I was a vampire, I wouldn't suck your blood  
Then I dreamed I was you... The sweetest dream I have had…_

_ "Fireman" - Jawbreaker_

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing. Is this really necessary?

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Perfect – she's perfect. The dark-haired girl rests her cheek on her hand, watching her friend's lips across the teacups and saucers. Just watching. The perfect, glossy pink petals move soundlessly, forming picturesque contours in her heart-shaped face. Framed by fine tendrils of sandy hair, that face glows. It radiates – kindness, strength, energy and cheerfulness. She wants to sigh. There is a comfortable warmth, down low in her chest, like the feeling of coming home.

"Tomoyo?"

"Mmm."

"Tomoyo, are you listening to me?"

Tomoyo lifts her head from her hand and cocks it to one side. "I'm sorry, Sakura… I was just thinking about something." She smiles serenely, a small blush on her pale cheeks. "May I pour you some more tea?"

"Mm, yes please." The fair-haired girl grins, offering her cup. "I just asked… what are you going to do about Takuya-san?" There is a look of concern on her sun-kissed face.

"Takuya… san?" Tomoyo repeats, slowly and cautiously.

"He confessed to you, but you haven't given him an answer yet. Graduation is only three weeks away…" Ah yes, _that_ Takuya-san. Sakura reaches across the low table to touch her friend's hand. "He's from another class, but apparently he's always liked you…" Tomoyo furrows her brow trying to remember what this person looks like, unable to picture him, while Sakura smiles gently. "It doesn't matter what you choose, but… the truth is, you're my best friend, and I don't even know how you feel about this…"

Her green eyes sparkle with flecks of gold in the late afternoon sunlight. It's breathtaking, causing Tomoyo to look away in thrilled embarrassment. Sakura does the same, looking down at her lap. "It's just… we've been through so much together." She pokes aimlessly at her slice of cake with a small fork. Tomoyo feels a pang of nostalgia in agreement. "And, we've both changed so much over the years." They each look up at one other and smile meaningfully, across the tea and cakes, aware of how strange a pair they make. One girl tanned and fair-haired, with slender athletic limbs in Beams Boy jeans, the other kneeling formally, pale skin and long black hair accentuated by her intricately frilled, doll-like dress of black lace and white ribbons. Sakura's eyes shimmer liquid-like. "But, you still mean so much to me… I want to know how Tomoyo feels." Her face is sunny, hands clasped in her lap.

How Tomoyo feels? About this boy, or any other? Tomoyo shakes her head. "I don't know…" she fidgets with a ribbon in her pale fingers. "I don't really feel like dating anybody… right now." It sounds contrite. She looks up with a smile. "I'm happy to be with Sakura, and Syaoran-kun." Sounds so contrite, but it's true. Isn't it?

Sakura frowns a little. "Are you sure there isn't anything else?"

"Hmm?"

Sakura scratches her head, embarrassedly. "Anything… you know, whatever it is, you can talk to me about it."

Tomoyo blushes. "Of… of course I would! I would tell Sakura anything!" She spins her teacup slowly in its saucer. "But, I'm not sure what you are referring to…"

The fair-haired girl bites her lip. "Well, it's just…" She awkwardly looks across the low table. "About that time… last year…"

Tomoyo's eyes widen. "Last… year?"

_"Tomoyo!" He is standing across the street, his hard face distorted by an angry scowl. It is a cold day, grey clouds rolling above. In a leather motorcycle jacket he looks even more massive and intimidating._

_She lowers her violet eyes to the sidewalk at her feet, walking briskly toward the corner. The other girls crowd around her in a flurry of uniforms and school bags, their initial hush bursting into a roar of whispers and twittering queries._

_"Do you know that man, Tomoyo-chan?"_

_"Who is that guy?"_

_"He looks so scary!"_

_"How does he know your name?"_

_"Nnng…" Tomoyo shakes her head, painfully, never looking up from the ground. Where did he get that expensive-looking motorcycle? She feels strangely angry._

_Her mind swells with the memory of him at her door, two nights ago. It was after midnight that she heard the knock. Breathing raggedly. His clothes had been wet, sticky – an unfamiliar smell – and his eyes darted around jerkily, like a wounded animal. But he wasn't wounded… There were red and purple bruises on his hands. She was scared. She hadn't wanted to let him in… "That… blood… it isn't yours…"_

_"What the hell, Tomoyo!"_

_The girls around her gasp and scatter, as he stands planted in front of them on the sidewalk. Staring straight ahead, her eyes are at his chest – she does not look up at his face. He grabs her shoulders roughly. "What's your fucking problem?"_

_She clenches her fists at her sides, her tiny frame shaking. "Please..." She still cannot meet his glaring gaze. "Please stay away from me!"_

_She pulls free of his hold, turning away. Softly, in a strained voice, she utters the words - "I don't want anything to do with someone like you…"_

_And she runs, a black flag of hair flying out behind her, leaving everyone – her school friends, that man – standing still in the middle of the crowded street._

Sakura touches her shoulder, gently. "I heard what happened that day. You never talked about it." She bites her glossy underlip. "Tomoyo… you were seeing that guy, weren't you."

Tomoyo inhales through her teeth. "Um… it wasn't really like that. It wasn't anything serious… It was just for a few months, last winter…" Her face is flushing a deep red.

"It's okay," her friend chuckles, covering her mouth with her hand. "I… I just can't believe you wouldn't tell me about him… that's all…"

"Sakura…"

"I mean… was that person your first boyfriend?"

Tomoyo's face is glowing scarlet, as she stammers – "I, it, w-w-wasn't anything like t-that!"

Sakura's lips form a small pout. "You know you can tell me anything, right? We're best friends…"

Tomoyo feels a snagging feeling at the back of her throat. Not quite everything…

The two old friends sit for a moment in silence, warm light bathing the room through the white, gauzy window dressings.

Sakura takes a sip of tea, and then lets out an embarrassed giggle. She leans her elbows on the table. "What I really want to know is…" There is a mischievous pause. "…How did Tomoyo even meet a guy like that anyway?" She chuckles, shrugging in mock exasperation.

Tomoyo smiles, relaxing a little. Sakura is always so cheerful... "Actually…" she sips her tea. "He lived next door, when I was a little kid."

Sakura looks confused. "I didn't think there was a house next door to yours…" The image of Tomoyo's family mansion with its sprawling grounds fills the fair-haired girl's mind. Suddenly, her eyes widen. "You don't mean, that huge house across the street?"

Tomoyo nods.

"Wow! He must be very rich then…" she quickly covers her mouth with her hand. "I, I don't mean…"

"It's okay!" Tomoyo giggles. She speaks slowly - "I suppose you're right… his family had money, that is. I believe his father was a shipping magnate, the steel industry… but I was very young when they lived there…" Her eyes look lost, gazing out the window. "Kurogane... it was their name..."

"Kurogane…" Sakura mouths the word.

"But anyway…" Tomoyo suddenly puts her cup back into its saucer. "We should clear these things away… have to study, right?"

"Mm." Sakura nods. "Let's try our best, ok?" Her eyes are bright, and simple – filled with warm concern, charm, and that distinctly positive energy. Tomoyo shrugs away dark thoughts and lets that warmth soak into her heart… perfect. She's so perfect.

The raven-haired girl carefully places a lid on the jar of sugar and begins to stack the saucers with busy hands.

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_You know you can tell me anything, right?_

Tomoyo lies on her bed, lazily threading a ribbon through the grometted holes in a black brocade corset. The moon is a sliver through the open curtains of her bedroom window. The most important person in the world – of course she would tell Sakura anything. But there were some things that she didn't understand herself…

When she was younger, she had been sure that Sakura was her only love. She had told her, in her own way, knowing her friend's heart was not the same but glorying in her happiness, her deepest friendship. It was simple, it made sense – and she didn't mind, being different. But gradually, she had started to wonder…

Being alone, it really isn't that easy after all.

_How did Tomoyo even meet a guy like that anyway? _Tomoyo inhales sharply. "I haven't thought about that person in a while, ohoho…" she laughs aloud, unconvincingly, into her empty room.

Being alone, huh? He was always alone. They had both been alone, that day, over a year ago… the day she had met Kurogane again.

It had been a bad day. Tomoyo was partnered with those girls for English conversation practice. They weren't the type to study, when left alone in the classroom. Tomoyo had sat upright reviewing her verb list silently, the rest of the group giggling around her…

_"Hey Daidouji, who do you like?" There is a sudden hush in the room._

_She looks up from her book to see all three of her partners turned toward her. Eyes intent. "Um…"_

_"Tomoyo-chan doesn't like any boys, does she?"_

_"No, maybe she thinks she's too pretty for any of the boys at our school." They chuckle, no longer looking at Tomoyo._

_"But she's always hanging around with Kinomoto and her boyfriend in the other class…"_

_"Do you have a crush on your best friend's boyfriend?" The girls gasp in mock horror. Tomoyo grits her teeth and does not react._

_"No way," laughs the girl with the shortest hair, "I don't think Tomoyo-chan likes boys at all."_

_"What do you mean, Emi-chan?"_

_"She's too in love with herself." The girl smiles cruelly. "Dressed up like a little doll in those outfits she sews. It's pathetic really." The rest nod in agreement, and Tomoyo turns her eyes back to the verbs on her page._

Tomoyo gets up from her bed, and moves toward her window, remembering. She had skipped going to her cram school that afternoon, and taken the subway by herself. At the park outside the train station, she bought herself a vanilla ice cream cone. Walking slowly along the water's edge, she had carefully licked each melting drip. It had been sunny but cool, that day, and the park was crowded. At the far end of the pond, she knew, there were always fewer people, and no benches.

_Tomoyo walks beyond the pond's end, and into the trees, kneeling down in the grass beside the high brick outer wall that surrounds the park. There is nobody else to be seen, she smilingly observes, feeling safe for the first time all day._

_She folds the paper napkin from her ice cream into a neat square, and begins to shred the blades of grass around her with small white fingers._

_Why can't they ever leave me alone? She thinks, frowning. I don't mind being alone…_

_Thump. Tomoyo looks up from her lap to see a tall male figure a few metres away, standing up in the grass and brushing himself off. She gasps. Did he just come over the wall? Something about his leering posture is familiar, as he whips his head from side to side, making sure he hasn't been followed. He looks like… Tomoyo squints in recognition. "Kurogane… senpai?" He has seen her._

_"You." He snarls in a low voice, by her side in a few quick steps. "Come with me." He has grabbed her by the wrist and is pulling her from her kneeling position. His enormous hand wraps completely around the thickness of her forearm, and she stumbles after him, too surprised to speak. They hurry along the far side of the pond, awkwardly. His eyes are wildly scanning around._

_"Where…"_

_"Shh!" he hisses, dragging her closer behind him. In moments they are beyond the park gates and he is pulling her roughly around the corner. Am I being kidnapped? Is this a dream? Tomoyo muses, still too shocked to even feel afraid. They hurry like this for the length of a block, before the man ducks into a doorway, pulling her in behind him. He holds her close with his back to the street. On her utmost tiptoes, wide eyes peeking out over his hunched shoulder, Tomoyo sees a large black car drive by._

_"In here," he grunts, pushing her through the door._

_"For two people, is it?" greets a cheerful voice. Tomoyo bites her trembling underlip._

_The waitress seats them in a booth near the back – it is a small, diner-style café with food-stained menus. Her dark companion pulls the collar of his jacket up and hunches down, hiding his face from the window._

_"Sorry," he grunts brusquely, in Tomoyo's direction, "but could you sit there for a little while?" It is not really a question. Tomoyo sinks down in her seat, nervously. She looks across the table at his face – sharp features, an angry brow shading dark red eyes, thin lips in a scowl. There are beads of sweat on his forehead. Tomoyo sniffs. He's not that old… 23 or 24, maybe – but he looks mean. She counts the age in her head… it has to be the same person._

_"Um…" He looks up at the sound of her small voice. "Kurogane, isn't it?" A look of surprise flashes across his face. She continues, timidly - "Why are you running from that car?"_

_"Be quiet." He snarls. Then, in a low voice – "How do you know my name?"_

_Tomoyo fidgets with her school bag. "You used to live in Tomoeda." She purses her small lips. "You did kendo – I always saw you coming home from school carrying your shinai."_

_"You remember that?" He squints at her._

_"Then you remember too." She smiles, feeling strangely at ease - so he does remember her as well. He just grunts. The set of his chin makes it look like he is sulking – despite his menacing glower, something about him reminds her of a little boy. She frowns with a sudden memory. Kurogane… that family. Didn't something terrible happen?_

_"You don't want to know anyway."_

_"Hm?" she cocks her head to one side, anxiously._

_"About that car." In his eyes when he looks at her, there is an emotion, almost… protective? He snorts, fiddling with a cell phone in his large, rough-looking hands._

_Surveying the café, Tomoyo realizes with a sigh that she doesn't feel that scared or disturbed at all. In fact, she is feeling oddly excited - courageous, even. It is a good feeling. She smiles hesitantly, then suddenly reaches her hand across the table, taking the phone from his fist._

_"Hey! You..."_

_"My mother's company manufactures these," she says in her delicate voice, pressing buttons deftly with small, experienced fingers._

_Kurogane starts out of his seat. "What the hell are you doing with that!" he snarls, trying to stay inconspicuous through his startled frustration._

_Tomoyo flashes him a sweet grin, handing the phone back across the table. "I entered my phone number."_

Tomoyo sighs, and holds her head in her hands. I have to stop thinking about that, she sniffs, setting her small chin firmly and decisively.

Glancing over at the low table by the screen door, she sees her friend's warm green eyes, lit gold by the afternoon sun. _Sakura_… Tomoyo scrunches her own eyes closed, sighing again.

The air suddenly feels very close and humid, in her room. Tomoyo has a heady, dizzy, light feeling behind her eyes. She stares out the window at the sliver of moon in the night sky, then over at the clock on her night table. It is past midnight. Maybe some fresh air, she thinks, lifting her plum-lined velvet cloak from the chair and moving softly toward the door.

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A/N: Phew, long chapter. Thanks so much to you few guys for reviewing, it made me work on this faster. Maybe too fast, because it's not that poetic. Holy flashback much, eh? Sorry this was mostly filling in the background. I promise next chapter things will actually start happening, ok? And more Kuro is always good, hehe.


	3. Ripples

**Dreamless Love Story**

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**Chapter 3: Ripples**

I_f you could hear the dreams I've had, my dear  
They would give you nightmares for a week  
But you're not here, and I can never sleep  
Come home so I can be a creep_

_"Fireman" - Jawbreaker_

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing. Is this really necessary?

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It's too late, too early in the morning – across the harbour Odaiba is grey. In a few more hours, the sun will come up and soak the water with molten peach light, but for now, it ripples black. He crushes an empty can in his fist, leaning back on this bench. Nothing but black ripples. The night air is cold and moist on his face; the heavy humidity that comes before rain. He breathes it in - this suspension, this tenuous balance, this dreamless, waking sleep. It won't be long before the weather breaks.

Wincing, he lazily checks the swelling around his cheekbone and temple with two fingers – still stinging, it has lessened since the night before. That bottle broke the skin just below his eye. The cheek feels tight where blood has clotted… Stupid kids. He grimaces, cracking open another can from the case beside him. It must be the lack of sleep… he should be healing faster than this.

Taking a long drain from his can, Kurogane scans the empty boardwalk. Nothing but a row of benches, disappearing, and black ripples out into oblivion. It's vaguely familiar. He has seen the sun go down here, once before. When was that?

His swollen eye twitches in recognition. A year and a half ago, was it? He fixes his gaze on the railing, a few feet away. Over by that railing, he had made a phone call.

"_Flowright."_

_There is a pause on the line, then, "Wait wait, don't tell me… I'd recognize that grouchy tone anywhere…"_

_Kurogane, leaning on the boardwalk railing, cringes at the familiar, lilting voice with its flamboyant, foreign-accented Japanese._

"…_It's our little Kuro, isn't it?"_

"_Would you cut the bullshit…" snarls Kurogane, his forehead twitching._

"_Of course. But to what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of this phone call?"_

"_I said, drop it." Kurogane feels sweat forming on his brow. He takes a brief glance up and down the boardwalk, before growling - "Today I was followed - black car, Kyushu plates."_

_He hears his friend clear his throat. "Hmm."_

"_You know anything about that?"_

_There is a moment of silence before the response. "I thought you'd been lying low down there, Kuro-sama."_

_Kurogane grips the phone closer. "_I have been_. What the fuck are they after?"_

_A deep breath is audible over the line. "There's been some trouble… at least that's what I've heard." The voice drops in volume. "From the mainland, mostly. Wang's… nervous. He's tightening his control."_

_Kurogane snorts. "That's got nothing to do with me."_

_A light laugh tinkles across the line. "Kurorin… you of all people know that it doesn't work that way."_

"_The hell it doesn't. I cut my ties with Wang."_

_That laugh again. But the cheery voice is noticeably darker. "You really think you can do that?" There is a distinctly sour note, audible in his casual tone. "After all you've seen… and all you've done…" Kurogane feels a wedge of ice burning somewhere low in his chest, and grits his teeth. The voice continues, effeminately cold, ascerbic. "You're Fei Wang's man, Kuropii. It's in your blood… That's why he wants you back."_

_Veins bulge in his thick neck. "Fuck blood! Wang murdered _my_ flesh and blood!" He spits the words into the phone._

_There is silence on the line. "I know." A boat horn sounds across the harbour, ringing in the crisp air. "But then, you've killed a few people yourself… Kurogane."_

_The tangerine sun is dripping its last light into the bay. The tall man in black grinds his teeth as joggers jog and young couples stroll past behind him._

"_Yeah, well what about you? You act like this doesn't concern you." His scarred knuckles are pale, gripping the steel railing._

"_Me?" He laughs again. "Me, I've got my own troubles…" And as his voice trails off, Kurogane can almost see his face. Cheerful blue eyes wrinkled in a smile, masking cowardice… masking some unspeakable terror. The lilting voice continues - "Worry about yourself, would you?" Always that smile. "If I were you, I'd try to stay out of sight for a while."_

"_Mmn." Kurogane's lips form a thin line._

"_Watch your back, okay?"_

_He grunts. "…You too."_

_Click._

_Fei Wang. Kurogane feels his shoulders tightening. Goddamnit. He leans hard on the railing, looking out over the blackening water. Biting the edge of his lip, he glances down at the phone still open in his hand, and blinks. Five characters stand out on the screen._

_Daidouji Tomoyo._

Daidouji Tomoyo. He finds himself still sitting on the bench, staring at the cell phone screen. Droplets of rain begin to splash on the cement. Closing it in his large hand he grumbles. Should have deleted that by now…

The side of his mouth almost turns upward in a smile at the memory. What a weird kid she was. Just grabbing his phone like that…

"_I entered my phone number."_

"_What the hell for?"_

"…_For you to call."_

Their eyes had met very awkwardly, over the table in that shitty diner. What a situation. But even that hadn't been half as bad as the first time he'd actually called it…

"_Yes, Tomoyo here."_

"…"

"…_Is that… Kurogane?"_

_On the verge of hanging up. "…Uh, yeah." Kicking himself._

_Silence. "Um, may I ask why you are calling?"_

"_Keh, I don't… know…" Shaking his head in frustration._

_Her cheerful voice. "That's okay! I'm… glad you did. I'm really very happy…"_

That was Tomoyo. He'd been taken aback by how calmly she went along with the things he said – like she wasn't scared of him, like she could see right through him. Why hadn't he deleted that number?

Downing the dregs of his beer amid the taste of raindrops, he slams the can into the receptacle at his side, standing abruptly. He knows exactly why. Because, she's the only person who ever looked at him like that. Who ever spoke to him like that. And he doesn't feel like he's really broken up with her. He feels… like he's in exile. An expatriate. Banished by the only person who ever saw him for what he was.

Frowning, grimly, he begins to walk. Time to get something to eat – this body has to keep living, keep moving. Sleep is only one of the demons creeping slow at his lonely back... Banished and betrayed – the exile walks on.

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It's raining hard now. Tomoyo's hooded cloak is flimsy against the downpour, but she keeps walking. Wet cement reflects splashes of light and colour, drowning her dainty form. Monochrome soaked in neon, wandering aimlessly through half-familiar streets, she loses all direction.

The fabric of her blouse is sodden with rain, and clings close against her skin, causing her to choke back an unbidden memory – of him. Wet cloth on hot skin. Why is he so much in her thoughts today? Maybe just the rain… and the black night. They remind her of that time – after all, it had been dark and wet, last winter when it began. He started showing up at her door late at night – mostly they would talk, while the rest of the household and staff slept, behind closed doors. But that night it had been pouring down much like this, and she hadn't expected to hear his knock on her patio door. He was soaked to the skin, and she had forced him to change clothes so as not to ruin her carpet. Angrily, he had turned away, peeling off his wet shirt over his head. And there, sitting on the edge of her bed, she saw that his back was…

Tomoyo shakes her head furiously. Why this? Why now? She had tried so hard to forget. But hearing about it again from Sakura's lips… She wants to tear at her long hair.

Gasping, she looks around and realizes her feet have carried her without thought – to a familiar street. This is near Inokashira Park… I know this place…

Underneath an awning, Tomoyo turns, and there, directly across the street, is the warm and inviting glow of that all-night diner…

She closes her eyes, and breathes a deep sigh. So, her unconscious heart has brought her to this place, once more. But how could she love someone like that? She bites down on her trembling lip, drawing blood. He's a bad person. He's not a good person. He's _cruel_. How could she ever… Behind her eyelids, there is nothing but Sakura's kind smile. Sakura's gold-speckled green eyes. Sakura's hands, holding hers. Tomoyo grits her small, white teeth. And in that moment she understands what her heart has known for a very long time. That there is no way to control it... who you will love.

With eyes still firmly closed, she steps delicately down from the curb into the rain-washed street and lets her feet carry her, soundlessly, where they will go.

Pushing open the door, a small bell tinkles. There is no waitress to greet her this time – it is long past midnight and the café is almost empty. Heart fluttering, she cannot prevent her eyes from moving to the back booth… where they had sat together, that day.

It is occupied.

Her face flushes with hot blood, throbbing at her temples, heart leaping from her chest to hang in the back of her throat, recognizing those black shoulders. It couldn't be anybody else. Why… Why is he here? She is paralyzed, vaguely shaking, unsure whether to move toward him or run for the door. Again, without bidding, her feet draw her forward. Closer, step by step, until she stands at the edge of his table – their table? – looking down at her feet. Rain falls from her soaking hair and cloak to pool on the floor by her shoes.

"Kuro… gane…"

He looks up. And as he does, their eyes meet in a breathless, speechless, quiet rush. Unnoticeable to anyone but the two. His red-rimmed eyes widen in a moment of surprise – and a flash of tenderness, of vulnerability, crosses his sharp features before she feels swallowed in his ferocious gaze. He looks thinner than she's seen him, cheeks drawn and eyes dark-lidded. There is deep purplish bruising on his cheek – she feels a twitch in her fingertips, reflexively desiring to touch his face. Her whole body aches, a dull roar emanating from her very bones. "Um…"

"What do you want." His voice is flat, and sullen, but it lacks confidence. Tomoyo shuffles her feet, and looks away.

"Can't you say anything nice to anybody, Kurogane?" She hears the reaction in her own voice and knows she is slipping into an old role. But, glancing at him quickly, she perceives in vague surprise that his usual chafing irritability is nowhere to be seen. He seems… tired.

He grimaces, narrowing his red eyes. "That's… a nice looking dress. You make it yourself?" He coughs. "Just sit down, would you."

She complies, with a tiny smile on her lips and a wet shimmer in her eyes. "I did… thank you… very much."

They look at each other in poignant silence for a few moments, neither exactly sure what to do. As if they are standing on the edge of a steep and precipitous drop – wrapped up in heavy weather about to break. Tomoyo clasps her hands in her lap, finally aware that they have been shaking. Why is he here? One look in his tired eyes across the table and she knows the answer. Same reason she is.

"Um…" She clears her throat delicately, trying again to speak. "How have you been?"

He grunts. "Fine." Then, something changes in his face. "How the hell do you think I've been?"

She bites lightly at her bleeding lip, nervous. "I'm sorry… Kurogane…"

But he is no longer looking at her. "It's been a year." He says, gazing toward the window.

"Mm." She nods. The words die on her lips. She knows that his pride is as bruised as his face.

"Why now. Why are you here? What do you want?" He turns to her, snarling, his eyes aggressively searching. Tomoyo shrinks under his glare – deserving of his anger. He seems genuinely betrayed, wounded even, but it's tough to believe. Tough to comprehend, that it was possible to hurt someone as rough and hardened as him.

That's right, someone as angry and as unfeeling as him… "I know you've had a great deal of pain… in your life…" She begins, in a quavering, polite voice. "But, didn't you once think that you might have been hurting me, too?"

"Don't act like you know anything about me!" He snaps, showing his teeth. Then, almost to himself, with eyes lowered – "I never wanted anything but to protect you – from that…"

There's that look again, on his face – like a lost and angry child. She suddenly remembers the boy who more than once rescued her from bigger kids, who helped her carry her bag when she was still too small to cross the street alone. Those proud eyes, that athletic demeanour – everyone used to talk about the neighbourhood boy with that extraordinary, natural talent for swordsmanship... He was always winning tournaments, big competitions. He could have gone far… What a shame it was, about his family. What a tragedy…

She looks up at him, tentatively. "Why don't you practice kendo, anymore?"

He glowers at her. "How come you don't sing anymore?"

Tomoyo is surprised. She hadn't told him about that. How she felt different and marginalized enough these days without drawing attention to herself in front of an audience – placing herself in front of cruel, discerning eyes. Asking to be criticized, for showing off her talent, pretending to be better than other people… all those things they said about her. She had forgotten the way he did that – the way he could read people's faces with such startling insight.

He sniffs, leaning back in his seat. "You shouldn't have quit."

Her lower lip quivers. How can he know so much about her? Without words, how can he understand how she is feeling? She thinks of Sakura's innocence, Sakura's beautiful, cheerful ignorance…

He starts to stand up, saying gruffly, "C'mon. I'll take you home."

She leaps up suddenly, grabbing him by the arm. Her cheeks are flushed. Face brushing his jacket, she whispers, "No…" Kurogane is frozen in place. He doesn't breath, paralyzed by the intangible ripples spreading through his body from her touch. And in this moment, he feels vanquished, completely, and utterly, powerless. She clings to his arm, holding it against her trembling chest. Whispering – "I… I don't want to go home tonight…"

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A/N: Okay, I know I promised no more flashbacks, but I couldn't help myself - I set a bunch of important plot points in their respective pasts, oops! Expect even more background on Kurogane's mysterious past shortly... I think I just like it when couples have "a history" - makes them more interesting to me. grins So much more complex, nostalgic and heartwrenching... like the real KxT! Anyway, it's heating up now, heehee. I'm looking forward to writing chapter 4... rubs hands together I'm such a perv.

Okay that's enough teaser for you. Thanks so much for reading & reviewing, you guys!


	4. Trust

**Dreamless Love Story**

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**Chapter 4: Trust**

_Dreamed I was a dream – I stole you away, away in your sleep  
Saved you from a fire, a gun for hire, I introduced you to a vampire  
Wave crashes on the beach, we roll around in its foamy grasp  
Kissing in the chaos of a kelpy sea - seems I couldn't save you from me…_

"Fireman" - Jawbreaker

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing. Is this really necessary?

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_No thinking. Just bodies, skin pressed against salty skin, his fingers tangled in her long, wet hair... Just instinct, this much he understands. Like the familiar scent of human fear, that extra sense, innate knowledge of motion and sensation... This is his special skill - he has always trusted his own body. The ocean roars in his ears, through his fingers, underneath him. Salt water foams and swells. He can hardly stand it. Her murmuring lips are too pink, too pure, like plum blossoms... It's unbearable, he can't consume enough, move fast or hard enough. Sinking his teeth into her pale flesh, sinking himself into her... gasp. Shift back. He trusts his body, tangled in the chaos of this kelpy sea..._

Kurogane's eyes snap open, fading into focus on a stained ceiling, twilight bathed. His chest heaves, sheets soaking with cold sweat against his bare skin. That same dream... only...

A sweet, female sigh drifts gently up from the rumpled sheets, a small body shifting in her sleep - this delicate and fragrant girl curled beside him. He feels something catch in his throat, as conscious awareness sets in. What has he done? She's still here, in his futon. Dark hair spilling around her angelic sleeping face like a halo. He closes his eyes in a confused pang of guilt and selfish contentment, inhaling... her. She smells of the rain, and of him... He grits his sharp teeth, ruefully. So, he couldn't protect her, after all... from himself...

He looks indulgently at her sleeping form - one delicate hand is curled peacefully beside her cheek. Those pale fingers half closed like a small flower, unfurling. He will never forget her cool touch - it has been burnt indelibly onto his skin since the first time she touched him, in her bedroom. Last winter...

_"It's... beautiful..."_

_Kurogane freezes at the sensation - her fingers brushing the damp skin of his back. Sitting on the edge of her bed, his sopping wet t-shirt in his hands, his shoulders are tensed and hard. The stupid girl wanted him to take off his rain-soaked clothing, did she? Worried about her fucking carpet. Well then, whatever her royal goddamned highness desires... He'd turned away gruffly, steeling himself against the expected reaction. Not this._

_She traces her fingers across his inked skin, fascinated. "So beautiful..."_

_Taken aback, Kurogane is unsure how to respond. He coughs. "I wouldn't know."_

_"What do you mean?" She cocks her head to one side, kneeling behind him on the bed._

_He just grunts. "I don't know... wasn't really my choice." In his mind's eye, he is ten years old again and standing in the doorway of his father's study. His father is there... With his back to his young son, the older man unbuttons his crisp collared shirt, slipping it down off his broad shoulders. He reaches for the sheathed katana displayed above the enormous mahogany desk, the muscles of his back rippling underneath tattooed flesh. The shirt falls to the floor, and the young boy's red eyes widen. His entire back is one glisteningly huge and ferocious black dragon._

_Tomoyo's gentle voice brings him back to the present. "Not... your choice?" Her hands are still on his back. He feels his shoulders relaxing under her soft touch. That's right, it's her. This is how she makes him feel. This is why he comes to her... He doesn't have to hide anything._

_"I..." He breathes in deeply, inhaling her scent, her room. "...I was seventeen. When they did this." He clears his throat. "Took almost twenty hours, and bled like hell. But I was damn proud, didn't even flinch. Guess I was thinking about that person... my father..."_

_Tomoyo continues to gaze at the terrific, dark dragon coiled in his inky flesh. Is it possible for her to understand? She knows that his mother and father were murdered, in their own home - shot dead in cold blood - when he was only fifteen. She also knows, from the news reports, that it was rumoured to have been a gang-related killing - that his father's company had been somehow involved with organized crime, Chinese trade cartels. She knows too - because he told her himself, once - that he had been the first one to find them, riddled with bullets in the blood-soaked living room of their family home. Closing her eyes, she rests her cheek on the tattooed skin of his shoulder. It is the first time they have been this close. She murmurs softly - "Was that... when you were in Kyushu?"_

_He nods. "You're not scared?"_

_She shakes her head, still pressed against his back so that he can feel her warm breath on his skin. _

_"Even though I'm..." His low voice trails off._

_She whispers the word. "Yakuza..."_

_Under her soft, cool hands, his muscles begin to tighten. "It's a fucking joke anyway." He growls, eyes still lowered to her bedroom floor. "Marked like this... when I had no idea..." About the lies. A jaded, teenaged orphan taken in by his father's business associate, his father's closest colleague - that man, Fei Wang. Taken out of school, taken up north, bitter and traumatized, with wild, rebellious eyes. Raised to manhood as a criminal and a killer, bitter, and traumatized, but loyal. Always loyal. _

_When they'd tattooed this dragon into his back as proof of that loyalty, on the floor of a Kyushu hotel room, he had no idea that the man who'd rescued him from that blood-stained family living room was the same one responsible for the slaughter. His father's business associate, his father's closest enemy, who betrayed him in an underhanded double-cross. Against all the codes of honour and swordsmanship that his father had believed in... a foolish and naive man he had been, to believe in honour in this day. Kurogane grinds his molars deep in his jaw - that was a mistake he himself had never made._

_Born with a gift of violence, able to sense movement with eyes closed. Able to read, on the faces of others, the most subtle markers of emotion - fear, arrogance, distraction - almost like different colours or smells. Able to move with an unnatural speed and power - an aptitude, a raw talent... a gift, some might have called it. But only in another world, another age... For now there are no more ninja, no more samurai – only ignoble, brutal and abhorrent killers of men. Maybe he wasn't meant for this world. Maybe that's all there is to it. But there are no more samurai, and Kurogane knows this in his very bones. _

_He snorts. "That's why..." Throwing his head back. "...I don't care much for it."_

_Tomoyo continues to trace the dragon with her delicate fingers. Could she ever truly understand? _

_She starts to speak, tentatively, in her eerily polite manner - "I still think that it's very beautiful..." Her voice is clear and melodic, like a ringing bell. "Even if it means… yakuza…" She pauses on the word, "…to other people… You shouldn't hate your own skin." _

_He turns his body, coming face to face with her for the first time since they have been speaking. Her violet eyes gaze right into his, determined. "Because, that's who you are... nobody can mark you or decide for you..." She lowers her eyes suddenly, as if she has surprised herself in her boldness. "I just think," she almost whispers, "that you can make it yours. I believe that you can own it..." _

_Her eyes widen as he grabs her and draws her face to his own, kissing her lips roughly, and meaningfully. The room is dark, and her mouth is sweet. The rest of the world is asleep, so he holds tighter still, and in his arms he feels her trembling body melt._

She's still here. She's still in his futon. And he feels an overwhelming guilt, black and viscous in his bones, deep in the very marrow. The one person he'd felt compelled to keep safe, and pure, since the first time he'd laid eyes on her as a child. Looking down at her sleeping face, he winces. She was never as innocent as he made her out to be, but he... he was a selfish, weak... bastard.

_I just think... that you can make it yours. I believe that you can own it..._

Yeah? Those words she'd said to him... She had faith in him then. She really believed he could escape the cycle he was in, but she had no idea... He shakes his head. How the fuck could he expect a sixteen year old girl to understand the kind of shit he was involved in? Still, he'd liked the sound of that, at the time. _You can own it..._

He had broken her trust, then, by going back to Wang, by taking that first job. As if it had been his choice to make, but that wasn't the point. She'd pushed him away immediately and he felt like he was the one who got burned. It was her doubt that burned the most… But she had been right to get the hell away from him. Now it's his turn... because, he thinks, scratching his head, he still likes the sound of those words...

_I just think... that you can make it yours_.

But he hadn't, at least, not yet. As long as Wang knows where he is... hell, as long as that bastard lives and breathes, he is not his own man. A new thought is growing and surging in his bloodstream. Adrenaline pounding in his ears. He turns away from her sleeping serenity with a throbbing in his veins and a tearing sensation in his stomach, or is it his chest? Very quiet. He pulls on clothes, grabs his helmet, drops a key on the table... and pauses. He can still hear her breathing. There's a black marker by the phone but no paper. He hesitates, then quickly, scrawls a few marks in squeaky pen on the peeling paint of the doorframe. _Have to do something_. He cringes, shuffles his feet, then – _I will definitely come back._

Turned to the wall, Tomoyo holds the sheets close around her naked body. What had she been expecting? At the sound of the scrawling pen and the muffled click of the door closing behind him, her cheeks are wet with tears.

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The red Mazda pulls sharp around the corner and into view, shiny and powerful and black-tinted in the washed-out, weak grey day. Tomoyo breathes a sigh, inaudible over the roar and clattering of rain on the awning. Pulling the oversized, heavy leather jacket closer around her shivering shoulders, she makes a short dash through the rain to the passenger side door. Sinks in to the reclining seat and slams it behind her.

"Tomoyo-chan…" the driver frowns, with earnest eyes under heavy brows. "Uh, Sakura called me the second she got off the phone with you… I got here as fast as I could…" He is looking her up and down with concern, taking in her tear-stained face, bare legs… the red crescent-shaped marks on her neck. "Are you… okay?"

"Mhm." Tomoyo nods, looking down at her lap. "Thank you… Syaoran-kun."

There is nothing but the loud wooshing sound of windshield wipers as the car careens through the downpour.

The driver clears his throat to speak. "I'm taking you to Sakura's place, okay?"

"Yes, thank you." Sakura had been the only person she could think of calling, after crying her eyes dry into the rumpled sheets of an unfamiliar futon. _Have to do something._ The black scrawl feels burned into the surface of her eyes, she can see it ghosting on the windows, the dashboard, her pale hands clenched in her lap. She sinks down further into the stiff leather jacket, much too large for her tiny frame. His jacket, his smell.

"Listen…" says the boy behind the wheel awkwardly, scratching his head. "I don't really know what's happened, but I just wanted to say… that you shouldn't worry too much."

Tomoyo looks up at him, her childhood friend, wincing embarrassedly as he flicks on a turn signal. "I just mean…" he continues, forcing his mouth into a lop-sided smile, "that you've always been a pretty good judge of character."

She blinks, her eyes still red-rimmed and throat still hoarse from sobbing. "Remember…" Syaoran is looking at her now, "when we were just kids?" He shrugs his shoulders, turning back to the road. "You were the only one who ever noticed how I felt about Sakura. Even before I knew it myself… you could always do that. Not me. And not Sakura, that's for sure…" He laughs lightly, and Tomoyo can't help but let out a small giggle in response. Sakura really wasn't very perceptive, was she…

"But that's what we both love about her…" smiles Tomoyo, for the first time since getting into his car.

"Yeah, but…" Syaoran's face is serious again. "There's something to be said for your insight, too… You've always been good at reading people. I trust that about you…" He sniffs, eyes on the wet road. "That's why, even though I don't know this guy…" he pauses for a moment, his voice trailing off. Then, suddenly – "Tomoyo-chan, do you love this person?"

She gasps a shallow breath, surprised at the pointed question. "Um… I…" There's a roaring in her blood, and an aching in her bones. Thinking about that empty futon, his terrible handwriting on the doorframe… Her cheek against the damp, tattooed skin of his back… The tall, snarling teenaged boy with his school bag and a shinai over his broad shoulder… Standing in the dark and the rain outside the 24-hour café, letting her body answer all of her questions. "I…I think I might…" Her voice is shaky, and uncertain.

"Then he'll come back." Syaoran says with confidence, running a hand through his shaggy hair.

_Have to do something… I will definitely come back. _Burned in her heart.

"'You have to trust your own judgment." He is pulling the car gently in to the familiar carport of Sakura's home. Looking at her awkwardly again, he shrugs his shoulders. "And if you love somebody, you've gotta trust them too."

Tomoyo's eyes are in her lap again, feeling strangely guilty. Feeling, strangely, better?

_I will definitely come back._

Kurogane… why is she always fighting against it? Why is she always doubting him, doubting herself? She believes in him. No matter how long it takes him to do what he has to do… she will definitely see him again.

Lunging suddenly, Tomoyo throws her arms around his lanky, stiff torso in the driver's seat, a wide smile on her face and shimmering tears in her eyes… The boy's face glows red as he stutters, "T...T..Tomoyo-chan!"

"Syaoran-kun… thank you so very much."

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A/N: sheepish grin... I know, I can't angst it up without trying to cheer up Tomoyo afterward, sigh... But you know, she is a pretty strong girl after all, can't expect her to mope the whole time he's away... Thanks for the encouragement, you guys! (espec. mysticdawn, don't worry, I will finish this story for sure. Yeah, I'm with you on 121, I thought it was actually a pretty awesome chapter. Sometimes it's hard to support this pairing as canon though with so many multitudes cheering for the other team! We minority shippers must keep the KxT love alive amongst ourselves, hee hee, ne?)


	5. Osaka

**Dreamless Love Story**

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**Chapter 5: Osaka**

_White noise in black room dust  
These hands long for one last touch  
Hourglass all out of trust –  
I don't scratch so I won't itch  
I don't reach so I won't miss_

"Jet Black" – Jawbreaker

A/N: Finished one song and I had to start another! I'm sticking with Jawbreaker's final record - Dear You, released in 1995, before I was even in high school - as it seems to be the theme. A note on this, as it is a strange and obscure choice: at first, I thought it was completely inappropriate too - pop-angsty early 90s West Coast hardcore in 21st century Japan? - but somehow, it's working for me. The key is that it's not about the music, it's about Blake S.'s apathetic, mundane, masculine poetics, which I think will come across in this song even more than the first. (In terms of music, I've been listening to a lot of Minus the Bear and Nada Surf while writing this, if any of you kids are interested! )

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Never did. Never will.

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"Point!"

"No it wasn't, aho!"

Light, running footsteps and the soft thwack of bamboo striking bamboo carry along the concrete embankment. Squinting in the sunlit glare, Kurogane inclines his head lazily toward the sound.

"You're wrong!"

"Oh yeah?"

Three boys, eleven or twelve years old, are chasing each other down the edge of the river, swinging shinais in their dark, skinny arms.

"Owowowow!"

"Got you that time, aho."

"That hurt, you idiot!"

The older man smirks, leaning against his motorcycle and pushing down a can of vending machine coffee. His legs ache from the long ride west and the many hours spent pounding Kansai pavement. It's been two days, and still… no leads, no luck. Not much at all. But at least nobody's come looking, yet. Gulping down the coffee dregs, he crushes the can in his large fist – a habit.

The tallest kid's ears perk up at the crunch and pop of aluminium a few feet away. He spins on his heel to stare over at the menacing figure in black leather.

"Hey uncle!" yells the boy casually. "Did you see that jerk cheat just now?"

"I did not!" A shorter boy pushes the other's head from behind with an open hand. The first kid coughs, and swiftly spins round again to poke his friend in the stomach with the butt of his shinai.

"Ooof – I'll get you for that one!" One hand rubbing his stomach, the smaller boy drawls over at Kurogane, "Did you see _that_, uncle?"

Grimacing, Kurogane crosses his arms.

"Hey hey uncle!" shouts the third kid, leaping up onto the guardrail across from the big man and his dusty motorcycle. "Watch us spar and tell us who's the best, okay?"

Tossing the crumpled can into a nearby trash receptacle, Kurogane grunts. "You're all terrible."

"Oh yeah?" The first kid snorts and throws his head back, standing comically with hands on hips. "Oh, _yeah_?" he spits again, with childish bravado. "Whadda you even know about it, old man?"

Kurogane laughs, juvenile arrogance flashing in his own eyes. Another bad habit. Clearing his throat, he steps gingerly toward the snarling kid. Then, with a sharp lunge, he has snatched the boy's shinai and is spinning easily, using the bamboo tip to flip the weapons out of the other boys' hands with a minimum of movement – one, two, they clatter to the concrete. The older man sweeps his mock-sword in a broad arc, tapping each kid gently – but not too gently – on the head, wrist, head – before rising from his crouched stance.

"Ow, geez!"

With a derisive, satisfied shrug, and a sniff, Kurogane drops the bamboo sword to the cement and starts walking back to his bike.

"Owowow…" hisses one kid, looking down and shaking his bruised wrist. But the first kid is speechless and staring, jaw hanging wide open.

"How did you do that?" His dark eyes are as wide as his gaping mouth. "Are you a kendo master?"

Kurogane smirks arrogantly but says nothing, picking up his helmet.

"Teach us!" The boy runs up to him, tugging on his thick, black sleeve. "Please!"

The tall man looks down into the boy's pleading eyes, both surprised and annoyed, and snarls. "No."

"What dojo are you with?" pipes in the second kid, rubbing the swelling lump on the top of his head.

"None. Now get out of here." He growls, lip curling, as he shakes the clinging kid from his arm forcibly.

The three boys gasp in unison. "So you're a ronin?"

"Our sensei says that's not good."

"Yeah, sensei says that no great swordsman is without a school."

Kurogane pauses, tilting his head to one side. "Oh really."

"'Cause… a true expert should share his skill with those weaker than him…" Kurogane whips round toward the sound of another man's voice – warm and informal, with a strong, jerking Osaka accent. "That's how sword arts become creative, not simply destructive…" A young man in a baseball cap approaches along the embankment, slouching casually, hands stuffed in jean pockets. He looks up and over into Kurogane's stern face, grins, and winks. "Doncha think, bro?"

"Sora-chan!" "It's Sora-niichan!" The kids yell, bouncing and jumping over to the man in the cap.

"What are you troublemakers doin' out on the street? Your class was over an hour ago! Go home and terrorize your mothers." The young man chuckles in harsh Kansai syllables, messing one boy's hair playfully.

"Aw, but…"

"Run along, run along!" He sniffs in pretended annoyance. The kids grumble, picking up their kendo bags.

"See ya…" "Bye, Sora-chan."

"Bye uncle!"

The boys giggle and break into a stumbling sprint down the cement path.

Kurogane growls after them, chafing – "I'm not your damn uncle!"

The other man chuckles again, moving close enough now that Kurogane can see his eyes clearly – they are smiling, lively and dark. He eyes the younger man cautiously; early twenties, he guesses, with a tanned, scarred-up young face - he looks like he's been in a few fights…

"I'm Arisugawa Sorata," comes a wide grin from under the brim of the baseball cap, "pleased to meet you."

Kurogane raises one heavy eyebrow and squints. "Sora…chan?"

Rolling with this gruff jibe from the snarling man in black, the younger man lets out a laugh, "What can I say, I'm a kid at heart!" He scratches his head and shrugs, beaming.

Kurogane snorts, slightly bemused at his cheerful, casual demeanour. This is Osaka, huh?

"So you're those kids' sensei?" grunts the older man, setting his helmet down on the bike seat.

"Me, nah! I'm a cop."

Kurogane's eye twitches reflexively. How casually he blurts it out…

"Off duty, off duty!" comes another laugh, and a sheepish shrug. "But…" The younger man narrows his eyes. "I am involved with Kishimoto dojo…"

_Kishimoto_… dojo? A quick hissing intake of breath. "...Kishimoto?" Kurogane repeats in a low voice, red eyes narrowing.

"Hmm…" smirks the young man. "So you recognize that name, do you?" He crosses his arms. "Well, you do look like that sort of guy…"

"What sort of guy do I look like?" The bigger man snarls, squaring his shoulders as his temper flares up.

"Easy now, bro!" Sorata cringes, still grinning hugely. "You don't look like you're from around here, that's for sure." He turns toward the water, looking out over the afternoon skyline. Squinting, a little, at the sun's glare off the river. "You're in the West now." With a shrugging gesture, he shoves his hands back into his deep pockets. Smiles out at the skyline. "And I'm not the kinda guy who asks a lot of questions. You learn that quick in my line of work, out here. We do things a little different that you might be used to." He turns back to face Kurogane, with a devilish smirk. "But your ears perked up when I mentioned Kishimoto…"

"So what if they did…" The larger man drawls cautiously, intrigued by this strange, tough-looking and eerily cheerful man claiming to be a police officer, and even more so by the mention of the Kishimoto family name. Kishimoto-gumi… could it be? A powerful Kansai regional affiliate of the seventh Yamaguchi-gumi... Ethnic Japanese yakuza. With big connections. Exactly what he's looking for… His eyelid twitches again, above the greenish, faded bruising on his cheek. Have to be careful here.

The Osaka man's smile hasn't cracked once. But now, raising a hand to his chin, he begins to stare pensively, inquisitively into Kurogane's face. Right, close up, into his face. "Hmmm…"

Kurogane grinds his teeth, his forehead wrinkling.

"But before that, there's something else… in your face, that I recognize…" His tanned brow furrows underneath the baseball cap.

"You what?" croaks Kurogane, aware of a flinch and twitch in his fingers. Talking the talk… Could this goofy kid really be an officer?

"You look like…"

Kurogane's muscles tense.

"…a guy in love!" Sorata shouts with a grin, causing the bigger man to stagger backward into his motorcycle.

"WHAT?" Kurogane cries, veins bulging in his forehead.

"Aw, don't be embarrassed, bro!" The younger man winks, punching Kurogane playfully on his leather-clad shoulder. "I can see it, because I got a girl myself, y'know. Man, she's really something. A real lady. Most beautiful woman you've ever seen…" Sorata rattles on excitedly, a dreamy expression on his cheerful features. Kurogane squints at the younger man, frowning. "By the way…" he shoots Kurogane a pointed glance, a lop-sided smirk curling on his lips. "She teaches kendo over at the Kishimoto dojo…"

Kurogane leans closer, eyes narrow and intent.

Turning away, hands behind his head, Sorata continues. "That's why, me and Kishimoto, we're kind of like… family." He pauses. "I think you know what I mean."

The older man's sharp features are stern and poker-faced. But his eyes read both confusion and interest – he is unsure how to respond.

Sorata smiles, adjusting his ballcap. "Anyhow," he chirps, "since I trust your lovesick face, how about I take you there?"

Kurogane frowns, restraining his growing annoyance. "How can I trust you?" He snarls in a low voice. Sirens howl faintly, from far away.

"How can you not trust this face?" Sorata grins broadly, and jerks his thumb in the air. "C'mon, let's go."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The crowded bustle of a hallway, laughter echoing. Book bags, make-up, cell-phone flirtation. High school. Hell. Tomoyo sets her jaw and walks, an unfamiliar strength gathering in her small shoulders.

"Hey!" Comes a malicious hissing, a pointed, too-loud comment. "I heard Daidouji was seen hanging around with criminals…" Pretended shock and horror. Twittering, young female voices. Vindictive laughter.

"The boys at our school are too good for her." Snarling, coldness is radiating from a small group of girls, clustered around a classroom entrance.

"She only likes dangerous men, they say…"

"She likes their dirty money at least!"

"As if she doesn't have enough of her own already!" Mocking, harsh voices. Tomoyo lowers her eyes, clutching her books closer to her chest.

"What a loose person…" The gossip rings out, washing the hallway in a solid chill.

"Maybe breaking the law excites her…" More twittering.

"Isn't that right, Tomoyo-chan?" An icy, friendly voice. The girl with short hair on the edge of the group has turned and is focusing her gaze directly on Tomoyo. Five more sets of mascara eyes follow suite. Like a small animal, startled by headlights, the pale, dark-haired girl in gothic ribbons freezes but stands her ground. Around her is a sense of calm.

The short-haired girl smiles brutally. "Right? Your lover is probably a horrible, tattooed yakuza, isn't he?"

Violet eyes peeking out from under her dark bangs, Tomoyo hesitates, then smiles. "Yes... yes he is." With those sweet and politely modulated notes, she tosses her black flag of hair behind her and strolls into the classroom.

Speechless, lip-glossed hanging jaws in her wake.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stepping first into the cool shade of the dojo, Kurogane inhales the familiar smell of tatami – and then sharply, the familiar chill of steel across his throat. Shit. Frozen in place, his eyes dart around. An Osaka chuckle from behind him.

"Isn't she great?"

The pale-skinned, dark-haired woman in dojo garb presses her katana closer against his neck. "He's unfriendly." She speaks softly, to the man in the baseball cap, her flashing, almond shaped eyes not leaving Kurogane's face.

"Easy babe, he's alright!" Sorata is grinning, and shrugging, a little awkwardly, in Kurogane's direction. The woman frowns, her lips forming a small pout. Kurogane can sense the agility and skill in her frame. She has him pressed against an outer wall – there is no way to evade her defensively. Sorata grins sheepishly off to one side, apparently helpless. He would have to…

Kurogane grunts, visualizing a blow to her exposed side, a lighting grasp of her wrist, flinging her body doll-like across the room. The edge of the icy blade digs deeper against his heaving throat as if in response to these thoughts. Cocking her head slightly to one side, this strange, violent woman smiles at him.

"What do you want?" Her voice is calm and even.

"Are you people…" Kurogane halts, glancing quickly at the smiling Osaka man. "Are you Kishimoto-gumi?"

The sword slides dangerously, under his chin, marking the flesh.

He gulps, angrily. Again contemplating taking this bitch down. Again thinking better of it. Thinking of that man… Fei Wang. "I want…" He snorts, "… your help."

Blade still pressed to his throat, the woman looks for a long time at his face. Hungrily, or impassively? Taking in the sharp, angry features, hardened dark skin with mottled bruising around the cheek, red eyes guarded but accurate. She does not speak, she does not move, holding fast. She's like a stone. He can't read her, at all…

"C'mon now, babe…" Sorata coos, cringingly. There is more silence. More breathing, more tatami smell.

Stone.

"Arashi-kun." A husky, female voice rings out from across the room. Sorata turns. The girl with the sword does not flinch.

A stunning, half-Japanese woman in a silk robe emerges from behind the shoji screen on the other side of the large room. Her long, bare legs come into full view; her arms crossed casually at her waist. "Put your sword away."

The woman with the blade wrinkles her small nose but does not move.

"Honestly..." sighs the older woman in the robe, throwing up her hands. She approaches, gently, tall frame gliding across the tatami. Close enough to look into his eyes. Placing one hand on the black-haired woman's shoulder, she coos softly. "A lost child comes to ask this family for help."

"But..." The younger woman tilts her head, eyes still unreadable.

Kurogane is aware of his own breathing. Brown eyes steely, the woman in the robe flips her short crop of thick, curled auburn hair. "We will hear his request." Turns, and exits the room.

--------------------------------------

"You're surprised." The woman named Kasumi smiles, husky-voiced, as she fills his cup.

"A little." Kurogane grunts, kneeling on the tatami floor.

"There is a precedent for female leadership in the Yamaguchi-gumi. It is not unheard of." Sorata kneels away to one side, his jacket and ballcap gone. The woman with long black hair stands by the doorframe, still in dojo clothing. "I am the 'eighth'." Kasumi sips from her own cup, one hand delicately holding the silk sleeve of her robe. "The 'seventh' passed away not long ago. I was his..." she pauses, smiling, "companion." She purses her rouged lips. "I will head this family until the regional leaders can convene to select a successor." Tossing her bob of hair. "It may be a few years until that happens."

He snorts. Inclining his head slightly toward the door.

"And her?" Kasumi laughs lightly. "Arashi-kun may be young, and unpredictable - but she is among my most loyal men." The dark-haired young woman averts her eyes, facing the opposing wall with a set jaw. "She has grown up in Kishimoto - taken in as a street child by the 'seventh', ten years ago in Kobe." The older woman sets her cup down on the low table. "We accept the young and lost, the disaffected and the disenfranchised. We provide a home... and a family..." Delicately, she begins to slip the silk down from her shoulders. As the fabric slides down, it reveals an intricately inked red and gold koi fish, swimming like flame under her skin, covering her chest, shoulders and back.

Kurogane frowns.

"Don't be afraid to show your colours here." She lets the robe slide to the tatami around her folded legs, subtly adjusting her lace camisole. "You're among my people now."

Kurogane flicks his red eyes over to the kneeling man in t-shirt and jeans.

Kasumi laughs her husky laugh. "Sorata-san may be law enforcement... but he is family first."

The Osaka man nods, bowing low. Slowly, still kneeling, he peels off his t-shirt over his head. Exposing a strong torso, covered in black and midnight blue ink.

Almost simultaneously, the young woman by the door soundlessly unfastens her rough cloth dojo jacket, and lets it slip down from her shoulders, revealing the exact same markings as the young police officer.

Kurogane looks back at Sorata, who shrugs his shirtless shoulders. "I fell pretty hard for this one, I guess." He smirks at Kurogane. "Told you we do things a little different out West."

The man in black turns his attention once more to the brown-eyed woman across the small table. He clears his throat roughly. "So this dojo is..."

"Our connection to the youth of this community." She replies, tilting her head.

He grimaces.

"You were expecting it to be a front for criminal activity, no?" Kasumi laughs. "Well... I'd be lying if I said we didn't do that as well." She tosses her firey hair once more. "But we have always held on to an important belief in the responsibility that comes with our strength. We are a powerful organization." Pouring more sake into a cup. "It is our duty to give something back to those less powerful... taking in lost, young ones..." She glances over at Arashi. "Teaching them to defend themselves..."

Sorata sniffs. "The Kishimoto-gumi's positive influence in this community outweighs most of their more... unsavoury dealings." He speaks carefully, his strong accent lightening. "Which is why the Kansai police force tends to look the other way."

"We follow a code." A soft voice speaks suddenly, from beside the door.

Kasumi smiles. "Unlike the place you come from..." she says darkly, narrowing her thick-lashed eyes. Kurogane scowls tentatively in response. The older woman begins to speak slowly, with a calculated intensity. "These mainland Chinese syndicates are gaining more and more ground in our islands." Kurogane kneels stiffly, his face cold. Reading her expressions. She continues, huskily. "The greater Yamaguchi-gumi does not appreciate their activity within its traditional territories." Noting the chilly edge in her dark voice. "And as you can tell," she smiles, "we believe very much in tradition."

All three strangers have their eyes on him. The woman by the doorframe nods, her almond eyes still impossible to read. Sorata looks on with thin lips pressed together, a rare serious expression set on his face underneath short, messy dark hair. The 'eighth' Kishimoto-gumi, this woman Karen Kasumi, is still smiling serenely, taking a sip from her sake cup, dangerous brown eyes never leaving his. Kurogane knows what comes next.

Unbidden, her pale, round-eyed face flashes through his thoughts - the taste of her last kiss on his dry lips. That girl, crying. That girl, turning from him, blood on his hands. That girl, storming away - _I don't want anything to do with someone like you... _And he'd promised, that he would come back. He'd left writing, on the wall. He would return, that much was certain. But, would she take him back? A full-blooded yakuza...

Next comes initiation. Affiliation. Allegiance. Like a traditional marriage ceremony, the yakuza weds for life. Family is blood, and blood cannot be revoked. Getting involved with another syndicate, digging himself deeper into this culture, this life. He closes his bloodshot eyes and inhales. Taking out the Fei Wang group is a feat much too large for one man. He cannot do it alone. Thinking back to the faces of his father, and his mother. Thinking back to their blood - his blood - spilt, on the living room floor. Maybe he has been a full-blooded yakuza, all along.

All these thoughts, swirling chaotic in his head.

_I just think... that you can make it yours. I believe that you can own it..._ He blinks. Tomoyo...

"So..." the flame-tattooed woman speaks, resolutely, returning the cup to the table with both hands. And even before she asks, Kurogane knows his answer. "Will you drink from my cup?"

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A/N: Hey, it is a Tsubasa fanfic, right? sweet, sweet crossover action. And what would a trip to Osaka be without the only CLAMP male character I adore more than Kurogane, "genuine Kansai boy" Sorata Arisugawa! - fangirl squee - Really inspired by a quote from a Clamp no Kiseki interview about the origins of the X/1999 characters: "We had a cute little "Romeo and Juliet" story that was never published, but the heroine there was Arashi. I mean, she was completely different, part of the Yakuza, she had a totally different temperament. Quiet, but really spontaneous. And the boy was sort of a Sorata prototype too, actually. He was a cop."

Can you believe that? Ohgawa is so cool. I would have killed to have read that story.

I freaked out when I read that a long time ago, and had to write them into this, sumimasen! Minor deviation from the Kurogane/Tomoyo goodness. But never fear, there shall be more of our real protagonists, next chap.

As for the Yakuza (Japanese organized crime, if you haven't figured that out yet) stuff, hope it wasn't too boring. The ritual at the end of drinking sake from the same cup is a Yakuza tradition of expressing allegiance as well as mirroring a traditional Japanese wedding ceremony. And it's also true that Yakuza groups do sometimes take in orphaned teenagers, and have had female leadership for short periods of time!

Thanks for sticking with me, you guys are the best!


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